25 Years Of Being.

A quarter of a century. Wow.

I’ve decided to dedicate this page to myself—a small token of appreciation—and for anyone who might find some comfort in these words.

Birthdays have never been my thing. As an introvert, the idea of being surrounded by people shouting their well-wishes feels overwhelming. Then there’s the cake—oh, the cake. I’m not a cake person, and no amount of convincing will ever make me one. Yes, even vegan chocolate cake is a hard no. And let’s not forget the gift-giving. My brutally honest expressions when opening presents often come across as impolite. I’ve always felt that if I wanted something, I could simply buy it myself. What truly matters to me are the intangible moments we share or a heartfelt card—something I can hold onto forever.

As a kid, I remember only a handful of days vividly. My earliest memory is hazy, but I can recall being five, dressing up for a few pictures around the house. My father, a journalist, had this massive camera, and he made it a point to freeze time whenever we did something special. That habit of capturing moments shaped me in ways I never imagined. To this day, I’m obsessed with capturing fleeting moments, as if fighting against time itself, preserving memories so I can relive them in waves of nostalgia.

I remember my first day of school vividly—Mom waking me up, fixing my hair. It felt…different. Even now, I can’t explain why. I recall playing like animals that first day, though something in me recognized this was just the beginning—a long journey stretching across 12 years, growing less entertaining as self-awareness crept in. And oh, the bangs—I’d cut them impulsively every time I found scissors, leaving my mom to do damage control with an awkward headband. Those pre-12 years were marked by unfiltered happiness and a vivid imagination. I truly believed in Neverland back then.

Then came my teens. I often felt estranged, but somehow, I found my people. Music and books became my sanctuary, and art—especially painting—was my escape. In those early years, I started carving out my own identity, often retreating into self-isolation. Disconnecting felt necessary, as though others’ existence threatened my developing sense of self. Those were the character-building years, and survival meant triumphing over silent battles. But I’ve always believed that once you understand the core of who you are, every struggle becomes purposeful.

I was angry at the world but learned to channel it productively. Life taught me early that the world is indifferent to your suffering, so I decided I might as well live on my own terms. If my teenage years could be summed up in a band, it would be The Smiths. And yes—“Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head.”

Ah, my twenties.

College was, to put it bluntly, intellectually unstimulating. I found everything except myself. It was a time of compliance, of adjusting my being to fit the mold. Books became my full-time escape, and mafia films my obsession.

It wasn’t about proving anything to anyone—I’ve never sought external validation. Everything I’ve achieved, I’ve done for myself. Every moment of doubt that I chose to push through shaped me into who I am today.

Independence defines me. I’ve found no joy in meaningless social connections, even with family. I’m unapologetically honest and have no patience for superficial conversations. Many might find this abrasive, but I’ve learned to let people be. Most are living unremarkable lives while I seek an extraordinary one. Who are they to judge?

If I were to summarize the past 25 years, it would be this:

Focus on who you are and what you want—everything else is secondary. Don’t get caught up in fleeting pleasures; life moves quickly, and what feels important now may mean nothing in a few years. Surround yourself with people who challenge you, who truly listen, and who never force you to be anything other than yourself.

Happiness is a choice. It isn’t tied to future achievements or conditions—it exists here and now. Pain is inevitable, but it coexists with light. Life will test you; some days, you’ll hate the sunrise. But I promise, every hardship shapes you into something stronger, something kinder. Never give in to the darkness. Believe in the light, even when it feels far away.

Time is sacred. How you treat it is a reflection of your character. Live each morning as a new opportunity, and go to bed knowing that if it all ended tonight, you gave it your all.

For the rest of my life, I will remain unapologetically myself—flawed, opinionated, stubborn, and dreamy. I will embrace failure, growth, and discomfort. I seek an epic life filled with challenges and adventures, leaving nothing within my human capacity unused.

That is my promise.

I promise.

I promise.